


Hurt

by crystalusagi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Masochism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalusagi/pseuds/crystalusagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape has a filthy habit.  Harry attempts to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tofsla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofsla/gifts).



> Written for my angst_bingo wildcard, and for **tofsla** , who requested a ficlet with Snape sitting around all beaten up, smoking. Thank you to **tofsla** for the beta, as well  <3

_I hurt myself today_

_To see if I still feel_

_I focus on the pain_

_The only thing that's real_

_The needle tears a hole_

_The old familiar sting_

_Try to kill it all away_

_But I remember everything_

\--Nine Inch Nails, Hurt

 

Severus stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind him. The music in this particular establishment was louder than many of the others; the room was dark and clouded with smoke, drugs and potions fumes mixed into the air. The bar was already full. He managed to squeeze into a seat at the end, too far from the bartender to get any actual service.

For a moment, it seemed as if his presence would be overlooked. The moment didn't last long.

"Hey, I recognize you!" someone said behind him. A scrape of chairs, and the clink of glasses being set down.

Severus turned his head just in time to hear someone say his name, "Severus bloody Snape," in tones of disgust.

"No," another voice broke in, dangerously low, "traitor."

***

He lit his cigarette with fingers that only slightly trembled and assessed the night's spoils. Bruised cheekbone; several cracked ribs on the side that he'd left exposed when he fell over from the punch to his gut; split lip; a cut just on the edge of his hairline. His nose was most definitely broken. There were trials and penalties for unforgivable curses, and nothing rivaled the satisfaction of feeling a person's bones crunch beneath one's feet.

The smoke hurt when he inhaled, tightness in his chest that made him feel like he was being choked. It wasn't comforting. Not really. But it was certainly something to do, to keep himself from thinking too much, or from being sick on his living room floor.

Potter arrived just as he was smashing the butt of his fifth cigarette into the ashtray, appearing in a crack of apparition as if he owned the place.

"What is this?" Severus said, sneering, "Do you have me on watch now?"

Potter looked as if he hadn't slept in days and his voice dripped with weariness--but possibly it was just for the situation, and not for lack of rest. "Shouldn't I?" He stepped over to where Severus sat in the armchair. Sighed. "I heard about a disturbance from the ground patrol. Call it a hunch."

Severus flicked open the lighter that Dumbledore had merrily given him one Christmas morning and touched another cigarette to the flame. Remained silent. So Potter had come running to his house on the off-chance that Severus was in some kind of trouble. Potter really took gratitude too far. It did not mean Severus owed him an explanation.

"That's the third time this month," Potter said. The quiet reproach in his words made Severus want to hit him. He settled for blowing smoke into Potter's face, smirked as Potter frowned and wrinkled his nose.

"Your concern is touching, but need I remind you that I can take care of myself?"

"Yes, says the man who's bleeding in his own living room!" Potter's voice was sharp, higher in decibel than it had been before, his real frustration showing.

 _This is none of your business_ , he could have said.  It would have been true.  And yet.  "Would you prefer I did the bleeding elsewhere?"  

Another silence. Then Potter sighed again. "At least let me--" He didn't say any more, just pointed his wand at Severus and muttered a healing charm. The cut on Severus' head closed. The little bit of the pain in that spot disappeared.

Severus always hated this part

***

The first time Potter found him, it was by accident. He'd stumbled into an alleyway to escape his attackers and had rammed his injured shoulder directly into someone's chest.

"Snape!" the familiar voice had exclaimed, and he'd had to squint in the darkness to make out the dark-rimmed glasses, wild black hair and angular features. Harry fucking Potter.

Potter had insisted on accompanying him home, spelling Severus' wounds away, and making him tea. Severus had gone out of his way to seek penance, to make amends, and with one wave of his wand Harry Potter had wiped it all away. And Severus let him.

If he allowed himself to think about it he would have to admit that it wasn't just about being even with the world, about taking punishment for all the atrocities he'd committed or dealing out some retribution of his own; that there was a true escape that came only when he was broken or bleeding; that he'd come to rely on the pain the way one might rely on an old friend, something to lean against when the nights brought too many thoughts.

Severus very deliberately did not allow himself to think about very much of anything.

***

"Okay, I admit it," Potter said when he arrived at the hospital room, looking for the moment like a guilty schoolboy. He was breathing heavily, like he'd been running. "I may have placed a watch on you."

Severus' face hurt all over but he managed to snarl his displeasure anyway. When would Potter learn to leave things alone?

"Just to have someone contact me if there was a report with the Aurors or at St. Mungo's with your name attached," Potter continued. He dropped a packet into Severus' lap. "I brought your cigarettes. Go ahead, the smoke detection charms have been disabled."

Severus reached into the brown paper bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and Albus' lighter. Potter must have been to his house to grab them.  How had Potter known?

He flicked on the lighter. "If you expect me to be grateful--"  

"Don't worry, I'm not that delusional."  

***

"Something has to change." Potter, standing in front of him, flexing and un-flexing his fingers as if he were considering making a fist. If only he would. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

 _You are free to leave_ , Severus wanted to say, but Potter wasn't joking. And Severus suddenly found he couldn't quite contemplate Potter's absence, no one to leave his things lying in all the wrong places, to heal his wounds against his will, to read trashy mystery novels aloud in his armchair as he tried to sleep.

"Say something."

"We could fuck ," he offered, brain on auto-pilot.  Why not that, if something had to change?

"What the hell?" Potter stepped back, confused and irate.  But he was already blushing, mouth falling unconsciously open as Severus stood up to tower over him.

"Or don't you want it?" Potter had been with the Weasley girl for years before it ended, after all. Perhaps Severus had mistaken the signs; perhaps there had never been any signs at all.

Potter swallowed, frozen in his tracks like a wild animal caught, but the sudden bulge in his trousers was answer enough. "Shit. Come here."

***

He pushed Potter up against the wall separating the kitchen from the living room and blew him, let Potter pull at his hair and thrust into his mouth until his throat felt raw and the cut on his lip split open. He could taste his own blood mingled with the salt of Potter's precome.

Potter tried to pull back when he was about to come, but Severus held him still and took it, let Potter fill his mouth with his spunk and swallowed, savoring the bitter taste of it in the back of his throat.

Afterwards he lit them a smoke to share. Potter coughed on his first drag, almost crushed the cigarette with clumsy fingers. "Filthy habit," he muttered.

Severus grunted in agreement.

***

They avoided further discussion of Severus' filthy habits for a while. Severus let Potter fuck him, and it was thoroughly enjoyable for all, and Potter could forget that Severus was a sick fuck who liked going out to bars and picking fights with ex-death eaters.

It lasted for a month or two, until one day Severus just happened to catch sight of some familiar faces on his way home from the bookshop.

When it was over and Severus made it home he locked himself in the bathroom, stood in front of the mirror and spelled most of the wounds away. He left a small cut on the palm of his left hand alone. Just a little souvenir.

The next time he saw Potter he could almost believe Potter didn't know.

***

They fucked all over the house. On Severus' armchair, Potter driving into him from behind as he clutched the back of the chair, bare cock rubbing against the thick fabric; in the kitchen, Potter stroking Severus' cock as he fucked him slowly, the uneven kitchen table rocking with every thrust; even in the small bed that was never made to fit two, and Severus had to hold onto the metal frame of the headboard, so that his hands always smelled of old brass afterwards.

It was good, good enough that Severus didn't think of anything but how it felt when Potter's cock was inside him. It was almost enough to forget about Dumbledore, about the Dark Lord, and about Lily Evans.

And for those nights when it was still too much, there was always the option of taking a little stroll in old territory.

***

"This is new." Potter rubbed lightly over the scar on his palm.

Severus pulled his hand back involuntarily. "A bit of carelessness with shrivelfigs."

"Hm," Potter hummed, as if he was trying to process some information. He looked up and quirked a eyebrow. "Bed?"

It was one in the afternoon. Not that it mattered. "After you."

***

Something was different. Potter moved too carefully, undid the buttons of Severus' shirt with startling precision; he usually ripped things off, buttons scattering everywhere, underneath sheets and on the floor. It made Severus uncomfortable to be undressed so slowly. He felt laid out, on display, like Potter was looking in a way he never had before; he became conscious of each and every scar that was now plain to see.

Potter's fingers traced the shiny edges of a scar on Severus' stomach, one of the stab wounds in a dark alleyway he'd received before his run-in with Potter. Severus remembered how it had hurt, how he'd had to apparate home--something he never did after a fight for fear of splinching--and spell the wound shut; how he'd stitched it up and let it heal slowly.

"I want to fuck you in the bed," Potter told him, uncharacteristically direct. "Lie down?"

Severus lay on his back and let Potter pull off his trousers. Potter knelt in front of him, one hand smoothing across his thigh, and stretched him open with his fingers until Severus was bucking against his hand, seeking further contact.

"I thought you wanted to fuck," Severus said at last, cock so hard he thought he might come before they really got started. "Get on with it."

The fingers went away. Emptiness for just a moment before Potter lined up and slid into him, all the way to the root. Severus groaned as he entered, filled too quickly, his body still not certain how to react to the sudden intrusion even after the preparation it had received.

Potter began to thrust, sharp movements that sent his cock slamming into Severus, so hard it jerked Severus off the mattress. Potter's hands gripped his hips tight, dug into bone. This was new.

"You want this," Potter panted, leaning in to nip at the skin just beneath Severus' collarbone as he fucked him ruthlessly, sending shocks of pain and pleasure bolting through him. Definitely new.

"Yes, thank you," he heard himself say, even managing to sound halfway in control with Potter pounding his ass, "I quite like a good fuck." He tried for sarcasm but didn't hit the mark.

Potter muttered something that he couldn't make out over the roar of blood in his veins, then bit him again. Harder this time. The pain made Severus jerk, the memory of something flashing across his mind, but it was gone before it really registered and Potter was still fucking him, their bodies making a loud slap each time they connected. He would be bruised all over by evening. He might even be bleeding. He closed his eyes, simultaneously aroused and frustrated; what was Potter playing at?

Potter spoke again, and this time Severus caught it, "You need this," whispered against his skin. Then Potter's teeth cut into him until it was the only thing he could focus on, the only thing he could feel, and Severus understood what it was all about, knew what Potter was trying to do.

"Stop!" he growled, arms coming up to push Potter away--

And Potter was still. Breathing heavily, green eyes smoldering, but unmoving.

Severus almost sobbed as the pain receded, sensation ebbing slowly away. He'd told Potter to stop and he had stopped. He should be--what? Pleased? Satisfied?

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked in a whisper, afraid he might yell if he raised his voice any higher.

"What I should have done ages ago," Potter answered. He closed his eyes briefly, as if his next words hurt him. "I know what you've been doing."

Well. Hadn't Severus suspected it? So Potter knew about his little outings. So what.

"It's none of your damn business."

A laugh from Potter, absolutely without humor. "Isn't it?" He held Severus down now, arms on either side of him and hands on his shoulders. "I _care_ about you, bloody bastard."

Severus glared, although the glare lost some of its edge because he could still feel Potter inside him, and all he wanted was for Potter to move again. "I don't need your sacrifice, Potter."

"I'm doing this for me. What part of 'I care about you' was difficult to understand?"

Severus could say so many things to this.

"You need this," Potter repeated, emphasized the statement with a tentative thrust that had Severus gasping. "I don't want you to get it from anyone else."

It's not sexual, Severus could say, and it would have been true, but he knew that it didn't really matter to Potter. It wasn't the point.  

"Very well," he said, mouth gone dry, blood pounding. It made sense in a way for it to be Potter.  After all, it was Potter to whom he owed the most, for whom he deserved the most punishment.  And as Potter said: Severus needed it, Potter cared about him, Potter wanted to do this.   _Surely it could be that simple._ Before he lost his resolve: "Do it."

***

He stood naked in front of the mirror and looked at himself. Bite marks on his neck, underneath his collarbone, one on his shoulder; bruises all over, smudges of color on his thighs, his hips, his arms; Potter's finger marks just beginning to show crimson on his neck from when Potter closed his hand around it as he came. He'd bled a little, too, when Potter pulled out, red mingling in with Potter's come.

"Does it hurt still?" Potter asked from behind him on the bed.

"Yes." He could still feel Potter inside him whenever he sat down, could still remember the sharp pain of it even now, several days later.

Potter shifted and got up, walked over to stand behind him by the mirror. "Good." His face was open, no disgust or pity or even guilt. "We could do it again. Whenever you--whenever you want it." Whenever he needed it.

Severus nodded slowly. "That would be--acceptable."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos much appreciated <3


End file.
